Saying No
by chartreuseian
Summary: After all this time, would she ever be able to say no to him? Helen/John. Dark and twisty, be warned... ONESHOT


**This has been floating around in my head for a while now and, yesterday when JulsKaye begged me for a Magnitt fic, I decided it could be my newest procrastination method though I have a feeling this is not even remotely what she was after. But, none the less, this is for you, my dear.**

**This is angsty, and twisted, and possibly disturbing so read with caution. I am and probably always will be a Teslen shipper so trust me when I say that my take on Helen and John's relationship is dark. I'm warning y'all now to avoid flames. Comment, sure but please be polite/constructive.**

**I should clarify by saying that, although I am a Teslen shipper, I recognize that Helen loved John and he will always have part of her heart. That's what this fic is exploring...**

**Brownie points to anyone who can pick where each of these encounters took place (time wise, I mean). All of it is taken from moments we've seen in the show...**

**Don't own it, just avoiding real work.**

**I'd say enjoy but that might be the wrong word...**

**xx**

* * *

><p>"Helen."<p>

His voice was soft, teasing. For a moment she thought it was a dream.

Then she felt his wet fingers trailing over her cheek.

She blinked through her puffy eyes, red and raw from crying. As she became more wakeful, she noticed his weight on the bed, his body resting along the length of hers, something warm, wet and sticky between them.

Then the scent hit her nostrils.

Blood.

Why was he bleeding? She rolled over, determined to help him. He shouldn't be bleeding, he couldn't be bleeding. He couldn't die. She wouldn't let him.

Then it hit her.

She shot him.

That's why he was bleeding.

She froze as his arms began to snake around her. She knew she should push him off but she couldn't. He was bleeding and she needed to help him.

Then she felt his lips on her neck.

"Helen," he murmured.

"John."

"Please, please."

She whimpered in his arms but pulled him closer.

She'd shot him, she'd killed him. He'd killed that girl. The blonde one who tried to be polite. He'd drawn the blade across her throat. She'd shot him. She'd shot him. With a gun. Through his heart (hopefully). But he'd been to quick. Too quick and he'd left. Now he was here, in her arms, lips on her neck, blood seeping into the soft cotton of her nightgown. His body was over hers, hands slipping from her shoulders down, down, down.

She should stop him. She should say no. She should kill him.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't stop him. She couldn't say no. She couldn't kill him.

But she should.

"Please."

His lips were on hers now and she was kissing him back, tasting him, begging him to taste her. She could feel his blood matting her hair as it bunched around her neck. It was sticking to her skin.

His lips moved back to her neck, licking at the blood, cleaning her softly.

"Helen."

"John."

He kissed her again and she could taste the blood. It was bitter, like metal and it stung her nostrils.

She knew she should push him away. She should stop the hand that was snaking between her legs. She should stop her own hands from undressing him. Stop herself from peeling away the filthy layers that separated them.

"Helen."

She wished he'd stop saying her name. It sounded dirty coming from his lips. Her still sore eyelids slid shut and she bit her lip as his hands found her centre, wet and waiting. She bucked against him but it wasn't her who was moving under him. She wasn't making the choice. Something in her was telling her body to react, to shiver as his lips found her nipple through the sheer fabric, to clench as he slipped one and then another finger inside her. It was a beast, deep inside her, telling her to do these things she didn't want to do.

The beast made her curl her fingers into his hair. The beast made her breathing laboured. The beast made her want him. The beast made her crave the taste of his blood on her lips. It was the beast not her.

But it was no excuse.

The beast became excited as, quickly, he sat up between her legs.

The beast roared its approval as he tore through her clothing.

The beast egged him on as his nails began raking down her flesh, leaving angry red trails in their wake.

The beast was happy.

But Helen did not become excited.

Helen did not approve.

Helen did not want more.

Helen was not happy.

But she was euphoric.

He was here, with her, kissing her, biting her and then, he was inside her.

His heat within hers was almost unbearable.

The beast moaned and twisted, trying to convince Helen to thrust back, to move her hips, to get that friction it wanted. The beast wanted to pull his shoulder down so that it could taste him again, so that it could touch him again.

Then, as if he could hear the beast within her, he moved so that his now naked body pressed against hers.

His lips brushed against hers briefly before moving to kiss a line across her neck.

A line. Long, thin, dangerous. A line she knew that he had made before. Many times before. A line he had already made tonight on another woman's throat.

The beast was bellowing again, shrieking approval for his actions, begging Helen to taste him.

With the last vestige of strength she had, Helen closed her eyes and bit her lip as release washed over her. Her body was moving, the beast was cheering and Helen was crying.

She cried for the loss of her fiancé. She cried for the loss of life. She cried for the loss of her friend.

She cried because she couldn't say no to him. To the man she gave her heart to.

And, as he drove into her one last time, she cried for the loss of her heart.

* * *

><p>It didn't matter that she had not touched him, she could still feel the blood on her hands. She had killed him. She knew it.<p>

She had killed before and she was certain she'd kill again but this was different. This was not a faceless attacker. This was a man she knew. A man who could be sweet and gentle and for whom she had cared. He had suffered and she understood that.

He was evil too. She knew that. She did but that didn't stop her from seeing Adam as the body careened over the cliff.

She had cried herself dry, her body no longer willing to participate in the pity she was allowing to envelope her. Seeing her friends had been…

It had helped with the pain of killing but it had been a fresh kind of hell.

One man who had run away.

One man who had turned away.

One man she had pushed away.

And one man she'd tried to kill.

As if reading her thoughts, the last man's hands began to trace patterns on her exposed arm.

She stayed still, praying she wouldn't have to roll over but, as his lips began to peck at her cheek, she did just that, arms moving to his broad shoulders as the beast pulled him closer.

"Helen."

"John."

His lips slipped to hers and she wondered if he could taste the blood on her skin. His hands began to slowly explore her body, caressing softly.

Something about being with him felt right tonight. They were both monsters. They deserved only each other. They would poison anyone else. She returned his kiss with anger and frustration, wishing that she was not like him. That she was not a murderer.

But she was so when his hands moved to pull up her nightgown, she did not fight it. She let the beast take its prize. She spread her legs for him and, as his fingers began to slip in and out, creating a rhythm that matched the beat of her murderous heart, she grabbed his shoulders.

A breath hissed out from between her clenched teeth and her eyes were glued shut.

She would take the release he gave her, not because she deserved such pleasure but because she deserved to find that pleasure at his hands and no one else's.

As his thick heat replaced his fingers, she bit her lip.

Her heart was beating faster and faster, half in excitement, half in hatred. She was a murderer and she could not say no. She should say no, she should stop the twisted torture she was inflicting upon herself but she deserved it. She deserved to feel used, she deserved to feel dirty, she deserved to feel miserable for the love she had lost.

She deserved it, that's why she didn't say no.

* * *

><p>She fell asleep slowly, unable to get the image of him out of her head.<p>

Tall, proud and strong.

Nazi.

She shouldn't have been surprised. She should have known that wherever evil lurks, he would follow.

He said he wasn't really but she knew, deep down, something about the destruction of it all appealed to him. It gave him a rush that only fresh, pulsing blood could rival.

She wasn't surprised at his involvement but she was surprise when his hands began to trace her hips through the thick fabric of the blanket.

She was even more surprised when he moved to lie next to her.

And she was even more surprised when that was all he did.

He held her tight, lips brushing against her ear every now and then.

They stayed that way for a long time, his arms around her, soothing her. It was strange. It wasn't as if she didn't normally have a bed partner, in fact, with James in her life, far from it. But having this man in her bed, being gentle, not touching her in a way that would make her cry, was strange.

It was wrong.

This wasn't how it was supposed to work.

She rolled over in his arms, glued her lips to his and tried to make him be normal. To do as she expected.

He tasted of sin, of death and gunpowder. He tasted like himself.

"John."

"Helen."

His hands quickly reverted to normal, caressing roughly, pulling and kneading, awakening her to a touch she shouldn't want but couldn't get enough of. The beast in her woke up too. A beast she thought had been long buried.

His hands moved to undo his jacket but she stopped him. This was not about her. This was not about her touching or seeing him. This was about him taking her. About him restating that Neanderthal-esque claim he had made on her all those years ago.

Her hands helped his in pulling up her skirt, baring herself to him. With a groan, his fingers touched her and her eyes slid shut.

She could feel his short hair bristling under her fingers but that was it. The rest of her body she could not feel. Someone else was feeling the pleasure he brought her. Someone else was begging him to move harder, faster.

"Please."

Someone else moved their lips to his.

Helen would have said no. She would have tried to say no but she wasn't in control. The other Helen was. The Helen who was young and blonde and in love. The Helen who spent nights dreaming of his touch.

If Helen had had the chance, she would have said no.

But the thing was, she probably wouldn't have, had she had the choice.

She should have, but she wouldn't have.

* * *

><p>She was crying all night. Someone had tried to help her to her feet but she'd pushed them away, instead scrambling to her feet before running as fast as she could to a room that was not her own.<p>

She'd buried her face in the pillow that still smelt of her daughter and, eventually fallen asleep, still clinging to the now sodden fabric.

Only when she felt his cool breath on her cheek did she wake up. Her eyes were sore but she didn't need to see to know who it was.

"John."

His fingers then reached out to her, cupping her cheek. She could smell blood and knew that, this time, it didn't belong to either of them. She wondered if it was vampiric, if it was similar to that that ran through her veins. Similar to that that ran through her daughters veins. Did run through. Past tense.

His lips were on her neck, finger tips moving across her ribs, pulling her to him. His hands held her gently, as if she were a ragdoll made of the finest crystal. As if she could shatter at any moment.

And when his lips found hers, she did.

Helen shattered into a million pieces.

One piece for the girl she was.

One piece for the woman she had wanted to be.

One piece for the woman she was.

One piece for the man she loved.

One piece for the man she hated.

One piece for the man who was both.

One piece for her old friends.

One piece for the Cabal.

One piece for the Sanctuary.

One piece for those who had died.

One piece for those who were yet to die.

One piece for those she had killed.

One piece for those she hadn't managed to kill.

One piece for Ashley.

And no peace for her.

Never any peace.

His lips were still on hers, moving with an ever quickening pace as his hands moved to her hips, holding her as he moved to hover over her.

The tears were thick now, pouring down her face, mixing on her lips.

And he was crying too, his tears salty on her tongue. His hands moved to cup her face as his kisses became more fevered. Her legs curled around him instinctively, a movement she wasn't aware of until she could feel him pressing against her.

In a matter of moments he'd taken off her pants and his hands stroked her harshly.

She bit her lip.

She knew she should desecrate this place but she couldn't say no.

This was her daughter's place. Somewhere that was already too tainted by him but now, instead of seeing her merry blue eyes, Helen knew she would see this moment.

A moment where she was not strong enough.

She had never been strong enough. Not for Ashley.

She was not strong but she should have been.

He entered her smoothly and a cry escaped her lips.

It was a prayer.

A prayer that next time she would be strong, that next time she would be strong enough.

She prayed that if she could be strong enough, Ashley wouldn't be dead.

But she knew she wasn't strong enough for that.

Ashley would always be dead.

Because Helen hadn't ever been strong enough.

* * *

><p><em>All debt's paid in full<em>.

Yes, but to who?

That's what it had said. That's what he had said.

"All debt's paid in full."

The words barely more than a whisper. Then she felt fingertips on her collarbone. They were soft, caressing her bare skin. She could smell blood on him but it had dried. She knew she should wonder at the fact she could tell the difference between dried and wet blood but her mind was absorbed in those fingertips.

"Helen."

"John."

His lips took on the path of his fingers. She bit her lip.

"Please, please."

Her hand automatically went to the back of his now bald head, stroking the soft skin at the nape of his neck. His fingers are traced her body, memorizing the curves that have changed over time. He pulled at her nipples through the silk of her nightgown and her eyes, once again red and puffy, slid shut.

She should try and stop his hands. She should resist. She should have learnt to say no but, as his fingers find her just as wet and waiting as they did all those years ago, she wonders if she ever will.


End file.
